


The Replacement

by Caprikat



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1800s, Alpha/Omega, AlphaXOmega, Aristocrats - Freeform, Attempted Murder, BL, Death, Dsytopian, Hate to Love, Intersex, M/M, Male omegas have vaginas, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, OCs - Freeform, Omegaverse, Original Characters - Freeform, Other, Plotting to Murder, Revenge, Vaginal Sex, Victorian era, intersex omega, lovetohate, notincest, omega/alpha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 07:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16471562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caprikat/pseuds/Caprikat
Summary: "Revenge is a dish which is best served cold."





	1. The Attic

Marjorie wanted to believe his parents loved him, he truly did, but dismally he could not convince himself of this. The way they spoke in his presence, the disapproval, the reprimanding, the abuse, was a constant reminder that he would never be accepted in his parents’ eyes. It did not matter what Majorie did, or how he had done it, it was always simply wrong, and therefore, punishment was inevitable.

 

To an extent, young Marjorie understood as to why his parents treated him so unjustly. In a matter of basic terms, it was because he was born an omega, and not an alpha---as the doctor had predicted--- and according to society, this made him less than any other person. He was the first, and only child the pair could conceive---this was a bad omen. It was to be said that if an omega was conceived first before an alpha, then the child’s parents would suffer a myriads of misfortunes. 

 

People became so frightened by arbitrary myths, implemented by the higher up alphas in society, that omegas became objects of hatred and fear. In truth, he only wished that his parents could see that society was fallacious, that he was not some foul creature, but a mere child seeking their undying love and attention. But, realistically he knew this could never be, for his parents were too far in their aristocratic conditioning to see the truth. 

 

As the years had passed, his parents’ abhorrence grew, till they could not even bare to look at his face without being revolted. This, had ultimately lead to the decision of confining ten year old Majorie in the old, rotting attic of Blackwood manor.

 

The attic was puny in comparison to the rest of the rooms in the mansion. There was barely any space to move--the ceiling was limited to six feet in height-- it was littered with cobwebs and foul bugs, a dusty mattress, the late 17th century wood had various cracks and gaps in them, and there was no exit to the outside world except for a small, dusty circular window. However, that was not even the worst of it. Two times a day did the maids come up to bring nutrition and water, and two times a day was he allowed to relieve himself. Once a week he was permitted to bathe using a small basin, but for any other reason he was not to be let out. The confinement soon turned into days, then into months until finally it was one full year.

 

But despite his parents’ inhumane treatment, Marjorie could not find himself to requite the animosity they felt for him. He had tried on multiple occasions to hate them, but every time his had happened, he had felt momentaritly angry, then found himself wanting to be comforted in their arms. It was not until the blond boy came, did he feel real hatred for them. 

 

It was autumn, year 1895. Marjorie sat on top of his tattered bed as he awaited the return of his parents. Eagerly, he peered out the window, placing his pale hands on the railing of it. He clutched down hard on it, almost breaking the brittle wood asunder. The wind had buffeted the window quite a few times, and covered the view with the leaves of fall. Marjorie would not have mind this any other day, but today was special, and he did not want miss any second of their return. He was given word that on this day that he may come down and join the family for an occasion. It was peculiar in his parents nature to do such a thing, and he was not sure as to what kind of occasion he would attending, but in his mind, it was not relevant as long as he could get out of his incarceration, even for small amount of hours.

 

From the distance, he saw figures approaching the house from a black automobile. It was none other than his parents. Both of them were dressed in their lavished attires, walking side by side with a small child, one about ten years in age. His mother wore her favorite white frilled blouse, along with her long, navy blue pleated skirt and extravagant feathered hat. Her makeup was light, barely noticeable, except for the rouge lipstick (that made her appear as though she had rubbed blood upon her lips) and her auburn hair was neatly placed in a bun. His father wore his nicest suit, and his most expensive top hat. The ebony mane was matted nicely, and his mustache was neatly combed. 

 

For once, neither of them looked like they dreaded living. They looked happy, even thrilled about the dirty blond boy, the boy who wore nothing but rags. They laughed, smiled, swinging him in between their arms. 

 

Marjorie's simper fell into that of a frown, his eyes felt sunken, and the saltiness of his tears drifted off his face. 

He realized what was happening. The boy, centered in between his two parents, would replace him. The boy in front of his very eyes was an alpha that the couple wanted so much since his birth. Suddenly, the aching melancholy that he had felt moments ago had died down, and instead rage grew boiled within the pits of his stomach. His usual pale skin was now a fluorescent red, his eyes were dark as coal, and his face looked as if it had froze permanently into a scowl.

 

When the maid had knocked on the small entrance on the floor, he ignored it, too immersed in his fury to pay her any mind. She knocked again, this time harder, more aggressively, and when there was no response, she unlocked the golden plate that kept the door shut. The maid was an old woman, in her mid sixties; she was always sweet and cheery, as much as Marjorie imagined any grandmother would be. 

 

Placing a warm hand on his shoulder, she spoke, “Young master, your parents are waiting for you downstairs—” He did not give her time to finish, swiftly he turned to her, giving her a cold, intimidating stare.

 

“I do not care. Please leave,” he said simply, the bitterness in his voice evident. 

The maid, shocked by the boy’s tone, stifled, and then abruptly, her once cheerful voice sounded soft, and unsure. He was never known to be so unkind before. “Y-yes, yes of course young master. I will tell them right away, sir,” she replied, bowing. 

 

He did not speak another word, and promptly the old woman left. 

 

Marjorie devised a plan; a devious scheme to exact his revenge.


	2. The Ball

The party took place in the dance room. The expanse was huge, embellished with the finest architect that money could buy. Intricately, angels and floral designs were carved into the marble walls and pillars; no detail was spared. The room itself had to be more than several houses combined, and forty feet in height. At the top of the ballroom, there was a chandelier, one that was made of precious metals, and decorated in diamonds. It swade slightly from the breeze that escaped the opened windows and doors; it was mesmerizing. It had everything, and anything. The room even appeared as something akin to that of a palace in a storybook. He had not seen such things in real life until now, and now that he had, he could not picture this lavish lifestyle to be his, even if it was. 

 

“Nathaniel,” his adopted mother called out, snapping him out of his stupor. He looked up at her, blinked a few times, before grabbing the hand she had offered. “Come now, my dear. We musn’t keep our guests waiting,” she chided.

 

The blond child nodded, and then smiled, letting her lead the way towards the throng of people. They were all dressed ostentatiously, sipping their wines, and eating away at the appetizers in front of them. When they had finally spotted the child, they laughed joyfully, opening their arms out to greet him. 

 

He gulped, a bit intimidated by their presence. Just a few weeks ago he was no more than an orphan child, and now here he was, a child of an aristocrat pair. He did as he was instructed from the headmaid, and gave his guests a charming simper. “Hello, my name is Nathaniel. It is quite a pleasure to meet you all,” he said dutifully, reciting his lines perfectly. Then gracefully he bowed, looking up at the guests with winsome eyes. 

 

“Beatrice, I did not know you had such an adorable child!” The woman, one with curly red commended, looking at his mother, then turned her gaze to him. “I'm Adeline, darling.” Her gloved hands reached out to pinch the sides of his face. Her grasp was sharp and painful, but he hid his suffering with small chortles. She wore a pink, long, puffy gown, one that meet with the tip of her heels. The dress itself was overly embellished, gaudy even, Nathaniel remarked to himself. It was stiff, and her breast were constricted to the extent where they popped out unevenly. “So precious!” she squealed, causing the poor boy’s ears ring from her shrill voice, but nevertheless he kept his face calm and sweet to her liking.

 

“Would you like a dance, madame?” he inquired, holding out his small hand for her to take. She giggled in return, and took his hands into hers.  
He walked slowly, diligently, as he made his way to the dance floor. There were others dancing; the males spun their female partners tenderly, and cautiously as if they were something fragile, their bodies oscillating simultaneously. He tried to follow their lead.

 

Nathaniel had practiced with the maid before, and clumsily, he had stepped on her feet more times than counted, but now was the real event, and he could not afford to be ungainly. He balanced himself, making sure not to overstep his space, and accidentally step on her. 

 

One, two, three, one, two, three..he counted in his head, following the rhythm of the music. He was precise in his movement, and ensured that he never looked down, despite him wanting to. His swaying was hypnotic, pendulum-like, and after a few minutes of adjusting himself to this dance, it seemed that he know how fully capable he was. He had spun her with ease a couple of times—despite himself being shorter than her—and lead her gracefully.

 

When the dance was over, the woman’s eyes widened in profound admiration. Her eyes then shifted to look at Beatrice who only gave a proud smile in return. 

 

“This child is certainly the most courteous I've ever met.” She paused for a moment and giggled excitedly, and asked, “Do you think, in the future—he could perhaps wed my little Clara?

 

“Yes, well—he did come from me,” she replied haughtily, lifting up her head as she brought Nathaniel to her side. “And perhaps in the future if he chooses.” 

 

Nathaniel did not know why his adopted mother chose to lie, but he did not question it.

 

The rest of the night continued with his mother showing him to the remaining guests. Each time his behavior was the same; it was demure, kind, and charming. He showed off any talents he held to impress his parents’ intivés. The constant affectation was becoming too boring, aggravating even. At one point he believed that he was about to break his “innocent young master” persona, but he didn't; he had managed to pull it off. It was surprising how tolerant he could be for these people, in spite of being peeved. The boy wanted nothing more than to leave mid-conversation, but he stood still, his smile stuck on his face. He had to wait till he was no longer the main attraction. 

 

While everyone was busy chattering away, Nathaniel slipped out the back door of the ballroom, and into the garden. 

 

The night was calm, and the stars in the sky shunned brightly. There was a slight breeze, but it was not overly cold; it was refreshing, and soothed his aching nerves.

 

Finding a bench near the fountain, he sat down, and leaned back into it. He enjoyed the way the furniture felt against his him. It was rigid, and honestly not the most comfortable, but it provided the support he needed from standing up all day. Instinctively, his head fell back, and his eyes began to feel heavy; they were fluttering, trying to remain open, but they couldn't. Exhaustion had creeped its way in his body, and he was starting to feel the effects of it. His conscious was drifting off the longer he remained seated. 

 

“When winter dies,” a whisper crooned.  
Nathaniel’s eyes refused to open, too weary from today’s event, but his ears listened carefully, and intently for the voice. It was mellifluous, and so peaceful. He had never heard such an angelic tone before. 

 

“Spring will live, then I'll see, the world as is,” it sang again.

 

The song continued, singing sweet nothing in his ears. He was tempted to find out where the voice came from, but he was far too relaxed to do so. His ears were pleased by the music, and he craved to hear more of the honeyed words. It was putting him in a state of heavenly peace.

 

The singing seemed to get closer, till the breathiness of the utterance was at the rim of his ears. “Then autumn falls, demands a life,” it stopped for a moment, lithe hands making their way on his back. They rubbed slowly, leisurely, massaging in circles. “And winter takes without suffice…”

 

He leaned into the soft, smooth movements of the hands, not dare questioning them. He was hypnotized, thoroughly convinced by this person, whoever he or she may be. “Again, again, the cycle ends then begins—”

 

The sound of ponderous heels halted his state of relaxation. He stiffened when a harsh grip tugged at him. “Nathaniel,” she admonished. 

Quickly, the golden haired boy open his heavy lids, and stared at her. “You need to bid a farewell to the guests. They are leaving.”

 

He moved his legs up hastily, and he nearly fell. His legs were wobbly from the little nap he took, but after a couple of steps, he adjusted. Once more she lent out her hand for him to take, and with a nod, he held onto her. 

 

The whole time they made their return back, Nathaniel could not cease his eyes from the empty chair.


End file.
